Whispers (62 page)

He turned away from the window and staggered heavily to the bed. He knelt on the floor beside the bed and put his head on the corpse, on its chest.

“Say something. Say something to me. Help me figure out what to do. Please. Please, help me.”

But the dead Bruno had nothing to say to the one who was still alive.

 
Mrs. Yancy’s parlor.

The ticking clock.

A white cat strolled in from the dining room and jumped up on the old woman’s lap.

“How do you know that Leo molested Katherine?” Joshua asked. “Surely he didn’t tell you about it.”

“He didn’t,” Mrs. Yancy said. “But Katherine did. She was in a terrible state. Half out of her mind. She’d expected her father to bring her to me when her time drew near, but then he died. She was alone and terrified. Because of what she’d done to herself—the girdles and the dieting—her labor was damned difficult. I called in the doctor who gave my girls their weekly health examinations because I knew he would be discreet and willing to handle the case. He was sure the baby would be born dead. He thought there was a pretty good chance Katherine would die, too. She was in hard, agonizing labor for fourteen hours. I’ve never seen anyone endure the kind of pain that she went through. She was delirious a lot of the time, and when she had her wits about her, she was desperate to tell me what her father had done to her. I think she was trying to patch up her soul. She seemed to be afraid to die with the secret, and so she sort of treated me as if I was a priest listening to her confession. Her father forced her to provide oral sex shortly after her mother died. When they moved into the cliff house, which I gather is fairly isolated, he virtually set about training her to be a sex slave to him. When she was old enough for intercourse, he took precautions, but eventually, after years and years of it, they made a mistake; she got pregnant.”

Hilary had the urge to lift the afghan that was draped on the couch and curl up in it to ward off the chills that swept over her. In spite of the frequent beatings, the emotional intimidation, the physical and mental torture that she suffered while living with Earl and Emma, she knew she was lucky to have escaped sexual abuse. She believed Earl had been impotent; only his inability to perform had saved her from that ultimate degradation. At least she had been spared that nightmare. But Katherine Frye had been plunged into it, and Hilary unexpectedly felt a kinship with the woman.

Tony seemed to sense what was going through her mind. He took her hand, squeezed it gently, reassuringly.

Mrs. Yancy stroked the white cat, and it made a low, rough, purring sound.

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Joshua said. “Why didn’t Leo send Katherine to you as soon as he knew she was going to have a baby? Why didn’t he ask you to set up an abortion for her? Surely you had the contacts for that.”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Yancy said. “In my line of work, you had to know doctors who would handle that sort of thing. Leo could have arranged it through me. I don’t know for sure why he didn’t. But I suspect it was because he hoped Katherine would have a pretty baby girl.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Joshua said.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mrs. Yancy asked, scratching the white cat under its fat chin. “If he had a granddaughter, then in a few years, he’d be able to start breaking her in, just like he did Katherine. Then he’d have two of them. A little harem of his own.”

 
Unable to get a response out of his other self, Bruno got up and walked aimlessly around the huge room, stirring the dust on the floor; hundreds of whirling motes spun in the milky shaft of light from the window.

Eventually, he noticed a pair of dumbbells, each weighing about fifty pounds. They were part of the elaborate set of weights he had used six days a week, every week, between the ages of twelve and thirty-five. Most of his equipment—the barbells, heavier weights, the press bench—was down in the basement. But he had always kept a spare set of dumbbells in his room for use in those idle moments when a few extra sets of bicep curls or wrist flexes was just the thing to drive away boredom.

Now he picked up the weights and started working out with them. His enormous shoulders and powerful arms quickly got into the familiar rhythm, and he began to work up a sweat.

Twenty-eight years ago, when he’d first expressed a desire to lift weights and become a body builder, his mother had thought it was an excellent idea. Long, brutal workouts with weights helped burn up the sexual energy that he was just then beginning to generate, caught as he was in the throes of puberty. Because he didn’t dare expose his demonic penis to a girl, vigorous weight training preoccupied him, seized his imagination and his emotions as sex might otherwise have done. Katherine had approved.

Later, as he packed on muscle tissue and became a formidable specimen, she had second thoughts about the wisdom of letting him grow so strong. Afraid that he might develop his body only so he could successfully turn on her, she had tried to take his weights away from him. But when he broke into tears and begged her to reconsider, she realized that she would never have anything to fear from him.

How could she ever have thought differently? Bruno wondered as he curled the dumbbells to his shoulders and then slowly let them down again. Hadn’t she realized that she would always be stronger than he was? After all, she had the key to the door in the ground. She had the power to unlock that door and make him go into that dark hole. No matter how big his biceps and triceps became, as long as she possessed that key, she would always be stronger than he was.

It was around that time, when his body began to develop, that she first told him that she knew how to come back from the dead. She’d wanted him to know that, after she died, she’d watch over him from the other side; and she’d sworn that she would come back to punish him if she saw him misbehaving or if he started getting careless about hiding his demonic heritage from other people. She had warned him a thousand times or more that, if he was bad and forced her to come back from the grave, she would throw him into the hole in the ground, lock the door, and leave him there forever.

But now, as he worked out in the dusty attic, Bruno suddenly wondered if Katherine’s threat had been empty. Had she really possessed supernatural powers? Could she really come back from the dead? Or was she lying to him? Was she lying because she was afraid of him? Was she afraid he would get big and strong—and then break her neck? Was her story about coming back from the grave nothing more than feeble insurance against his getting the idea that he could kill her and then be free of her forever?

Those questions came to him, but he was not capable of holding on to them long enough to explore each one and answer it. Disconnected thoughts surged like bursts of electric current through his short-circuiting brain. Each doubt was forgotten an instant after it occurred to him.

Contrarily, each fear that rose up did
not
fade away but remained, sparking and sputtering, in the dark corners of his mind. He thought of Hilary-Katherine, the latest resurrection, and he remembered that he had to find her.

Before she found him.

He began to shake.

He dropped one dumbbell with a crash. Then the other one. The floorboards rattled.

“The bitch,” he said fearfully, angrily.

 
The white cat licked Mrs. Yancy’s hand as she said, “Leo and Katherine worked up a complex story to explain the baby. They didn’t want to admit it was hers. If they did that, they had to point a finger at the man responsible, at some young suitor. But she didn’t have any suitors. The old man didn’t want anyone else touching her. Just him. Gives me the creeps. What kind of man would force himself on his own little girl? And the bastard started on her when she was only
four!
She wasn’t even old enough to understand what was happening.” Mrs. Yancy shook her gray head in shock and sorrow. “How could a grown man be aroused by a baby like that? If I made the laws, any man who did that sort of thing would be castrated—or worse. Worse, I think. I tell you, it disgusts me.”

Joshua said, “Why didn’t they just claim Katherine was raped by a migrant farm worker or some stranger passing through? She wouldn’t have had to send an innocent man to jail to support a story like that. She could have given the police a totally phony description. And even if, by some wild chance, they’d found a guy who fit that description, some poor son of a bitch who didn’t have an alibi . . . well, then she could have said he wasn’t the right man. She wouldn’t have been forced to railroad anyone.”

“That’s right,” Tony said. “Most rape cases of that sort are never solved. The police would probably have been surprised if Katherine
had
made a positive identification of anybody they rounded up.”

“I can understand why she wouldn’t have been eager to cry rape,” Hilary said. “She would have had to endure endless humiliation and embarrassment. A lot of people think every woman who’s raped was just asking for it.”

“I’m aware of that,” Joshua said. “I’m the one who keeps saying that most of my fellow human beings are idiots, asses, and buffoons. Remember? But St. Helena has always been a relatively openminded town. The people there wouldn’t have blamed Katherine for being raped. At least most of them wouldn’t have. She would have had to deal with a few crude characters and a measure of embarrassment, naturally, but in the long run she would have had everyone’s sympathy. And it seems to me that it would have been a lot easier taking that route than trying to make everyone believe an elaborate lie about Mary Gunther—and then having to worry about maintaining that lie for the rest of her life.”

The cat turned over on Mrs. Yancy’s lap. She rubbed its belly.

“Leo didn’t want to blame the pregnancy on a rapist because that would have brought in the cops,” Mrs. Yancy said. “Leo had great respect for the cops. He was an authoritarian type. He believed the cops were better at their jobs than they really were, and he was afraid they would smell something fishy about any rape story that he and Katherine could concoct. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, not attention like that. He was scared to death the cops would sniff out the truth. He wasn’t about to risk going to jail for child molestation and incest.”

“Katherine told you that?” Hilary asked.

“That’s right. As I said before, she’d been living with the shame of Leo’s abuse all her life, and when she thought maybe she was going to die in childbirth, she wanted to tell someone, anyone, what she’d been through. Anyway, Leo was sure he’d be safe if Katherine could conceal her pregnancy, hide it completely, and fool everyone in St. Helena. Then it would be possible to pass the child off as the illegitimate baby of an unfortunate friend from Katherine’s college days.”

“So her father forced her to wear the girdles,” Hilary said, feeling sorrier for Katherine Frye than she would have thought possible when she first walked into Mrs. Yancy’s parlor. “He put her through that agony to protect himself. It was his idea.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Yancy said. “She’d never been able to stand up to him.

She’d always done what he’d told her to do. It wasn’t any different this time. She did this thing with the girdles and the dieting, even though it caused her a hell of a lot of pain. She did it because she was afraid to disobey him. Which isn’t surprising when you consider that he’d spent twenty-some years breaking her spirit.”

“She went away to college,” Tony said. “Wasn’t that an attempt to gain independence?”

“No,” Mrs. Yancy said. “College was Leo’s idea. In 1937, he went to Europe for seven or eight months to sell off the last of his holdings in the old country. He saw World War Two coming, and he didn’t want to have any assets frozen over there. He didn’t want to take Katherine on the trip with him. I suspect he intended to combine business with pleasure. He was a highly-sexed man. And I hear tell some of those European brothels offer all kinds of kinky thrills, just the sort of things to appeal to him. The dirty old goat. Katherine would have been in his way. He decided she should go to college while he was out of the country, and he arranged for her to stay with a family he knew in San Francisco. They owned a company that distributed wine, beer, and liquor in the Bay Area, and one of the things they handled was Shade Tree products.”

Joshua said, “He was taking quite a chance, letting her out from under his thumb for so long.”

“Apparently, he didn’t think so,” Mrs. Yancy said. “And he was proved right. In all those months without him around, she never began to come out of his thrall. She never told anyone about the things he’d been doing to her. She never even considered telling anyone. She was a broken spirit, I tell you. Enslaved. That’s really the word for it. She was enslaved, not like a plantation worker or anything like that. Mentally and emotionally enslaved. And when he came back from Europe, he made her drop out of college. He took her back to St. Helena with him, and she didn’t resist. She couldn’t resist. She didn’t know how.”

The mantel clock chimed the hour. Two measured tones. The notes echoed softly from the parlor ceiling.

Joshua had been sitting on the edge of his chair. Now he slid back until his head touched the antimacassar again. He was pale, and dark rings circled his eyes. His white hair was no longer fluffy; it was lank, lifeless. In the short time that Hilary had known him, he appeared to her to have aged. He looked wrung-out.

She knew how he felt. The Frye family history was an unrelievedly grim tale of man’s inhumanity to man. The more they poked around in that mess, the more depressed they became. The heart could not help but respond, and the spirit sagged as one awful discovery followed another.

As if talking to himself, getting it straight in his own mind, Joshua said, “So they went back to St. Helena, and they picked up their sick relationship where they’d left off, and eventually they made a mistake, and she got pregnant—and no one up there in St. Helena ever suspected a thing.”